


Bitch, Stitch, Ditch

by sammyinthesky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Protective Dean Winchester, and of wanting to cut a bitch, blimey, british people slander, set at the end of bad day at black rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyinthesky/pseuds/sammyinthesky
Summary: Bela shoots your brother.1, you stitch him up,2, you vow to throw her in a ditch,The third step isn't part of the plan but what's a Winchester if not an improviser.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Bitch, Stitch, Ditch

**Author's Note:**

> someone on tumblr asked for sammy getting hurt and dean cleaning up his wound and i was more than happy to deliver.  
> (if i wrote this only to show how mad dean should have been after sammy was shot, no i didn't)
> 
> a big fat juicy thank you to [ Juinae ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juinae/profile) for making my wriring tolerable and especially for adding the "man" to dean's dialogue to keep things no homo. thank you, you're awesome. ♡
> 
> i'd also like to thank the amazing [ tattooalecki ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooalecki/profile) for their support and the cream filled penguins fever dreams they provided. the pretty sentence at the end is all theirs. go check out [ their fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915466/chapters/68358922), you won't regret it ♡
> 
> hope you'll enjoy it ♡

Sam can’t believe how close he came to dying today. 

He feels silly for how vulnerable he was all day long. Who knew that a cursed rabbit foot could be more efficient than demons at taking him out? Sure, it was Bela’s fault but he can’t chase away the bitter feeling of having been a burden on Dean. 

Sam winces while peeling off his bloody undershirt from where it’s caked into his skin. Fortunately, the bullet made a clean exit through his shoulder - in one end and right out the other. Negating the need for someone, probably Dean, to poke around in the wound. Sam’s almost thankful for that. Dean, on the other hand, is furious. 

At first, Sam thought he was still reeling from the loss of thousands of dollars worth of lottery tickets, but Dean didn’t even mention the money when they arrived at Bobby’s earlier in the night. Sam had left the two of them in the living room and went to assess the extent of the damage in the upstairs bathroom.

Which is why he almost jumps out of his skin when he hears Dean’s voice from behind him, breaking his methodical concentration. 

“How’s the shoulder?” 

Sam looks at him through the mirror above the sink and lets out a groan when he fails to shrug with his valid shoulder. Dean takes that as permission to enter, carrying a clean shirt in one hand. He frowns and approaches his younger brother to get a better look at the injury. 

“It’s a clean shot, I’ll just be careful with it for a while.” Sam’s tone is casual while he grabs some supplies from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. 

Dean throws the fresh shirt over his left shoulder to free his hands. He reaches around Sam’s waist, brushing it with his thumb, to retrieve the bottle of alcohol and a washcloth. Dabbing the isopropyl onto the cloth, he starts cleaning the tender flesh of his brother’s back. 

“That crazy bitch. Fuck British people, man.” 

Sam chuckles and raises an eyebrow at Dean’s reflection in the mirror. 

“Yeah? What about Alfred?” 

Dean makes a confused face before understanding that Sam’s talking about Bruce Wayne’s butler. 

“Alfred would never shoot you. And if he tried, I’d shoot him in the face first.” 

His words are rough with resentment towards Bela. Towards his own incapacity to shoot the bitch after she had wounded his baby brother without even flinching. Dean’s hands, though, are careful. He has to continuously swat Sam’s own prying hands away, hands that are just getting in the way. Dean swears to himself that he will fix up the mess that he failed to protect Sam from. 

Sam half-heartedly protests at being babied but knows better than to challenge Dean’s stubborn expression. Don’t get him wrong, fighting against his brother’s grumpy ways is never something he shies away from. But right now, Sam uses his right hand to grab the sink for support, which lets his shoulders ease up. Loosening and relieving some of the tension.

It feels nice, Dean taking care of him like that. He always takes comfort in the fact that they trust each other with their lives. They may not be the best at exposing their inner trauma, but the Winchester boys have never been ones to shy away from tending to each other’s flesh wounds. No need to camouflage what has been a blood-soaked staple in their lives for so long. 

Speaking of: Sam can’t hide the smile that tugs at his lips when he remembers the first time he stitched up one of Dean’s wounds. His big brother couldn’t reach it, so he had to let Sam do it. 

Sam did an awful job, he knew it even then. He could see it in the way Dean would sweat and grit his teeth in an attempt to quiet his pain. But Dean never once complained of Sam’s novice skills during this clumsy stitching session. Sam remembers later finding out that Dean had regaled Sam’s attempt to their father when he found a small note in Dad’s journal that read _“Sam can stitch wounds now_ ”. 

Normal families keep track of growth spurts and baby teeth but the Winchesters have always been different.

“What’re you smiling like a dumbass for?” 

Dean says as he presses a little too hard on Sam’s shoulder, causing him to wince and try to escape his brother’s hands. Dean doesn’t let him run away. He washes his hands, tainted with Sam’s blood, and dries them before opening a clean compress. He doesn’t look anywhere near Sam’s face while muttering. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Not like I’m not used to you bullying me.” 

Dean finally lifts his eyes and Sam understands that he’s not apologizing for having hurt him just now. He’s apologizing for the events of the day. Perhaps even for every failure he’s ever shown as a big brother. It’s all left unsaid.

“Dean it’s not your-” 

“I underestimated her. I wasn’t careful. Dad taught me better than to judge danger on appearance.” 

Sam turns to face his brother and puts his hand on Dean’s forearm, halting him in his tracks.

“Dean. Stop.” 

Dean clearly doesn’t intend on letting his self professed inadequacy go. Sam grabs him by the neck, ignoring the pain the sudden move stirs in his shoulder. He forces his brother to look at him, _really_ look at him, not through the reflection in a mirror, while he clearly enounces his words:

“I’m okay. I’ll live. We’re okay.” 

Dean lets out a shaky breath and puts his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. It's a sudden and uncharacteristic move on Dean's part but he's still careful not to lean on Sam's wound. Sam gives him a one arm hug with his good shoulder and keeps him as close as he can.

The exhale of Dean’s breath is tickling his skin and Sam can almost feel his erratic heartbeat. Or maybe he’s acutely aware of his own heart beating wildly. 

Goosebumps on his skin, one of his nipples hardens and he softly gasps when Dean’s lips caress his skin while he backs away from the hug. 

He avoids Dean’s gaze when they separate but he knows what he’s feeling is probably showing on his confused face. He dares a look at Dean and his breath catches.

His stare is so intense and the air so charged with unidentified tension that he tries - and fails - to fill it with words. 

“I…” 

Dean steps closer and Sam thinks that for a second, he’s going to punch him in the face. But he doesn’t. Instead, their lips and teeth clash together. Sam’s hand, still covered in his own blood, grabs back at the sink to stay upright. Dean doesn’t step on his toes to kiss him, he brings Sam down to him. 

He’s surprised not to taste beer on Dean’s tongue. Bobby offered them each a bottle when they arrived but Sam had declined. Dean never declines Bobby’s beer. This means that he came to find him as soon as he was done telling Bobby about what happened with the rabbit foot. 

Sam melts a little at that thought and his mouth opens up tentatively. Dean’s lips and tongue are rough and demanding, like Dean always is. It’s like he’s trying to check if Sam really is here with him and not six feet under in that graveyard. Dean mutters something against his lips but Sam is too busy trying to follow their messy body language to focus on actual communication. His bloody hand releases his grip on the sink and he brings it to Dean’s neck, keeping him close. 

Dean stops kissing him, turns his head and kisses Sam’s bloody palm and fingers. His tongue darts to lick some of the blood and he taints his perfect lips with it. His eyes look up to Sam again, pinning him in place. 

“I’ll kill her, Sammy.” 

Sam can’t help the smile curving his lips at the thought of Bela’s cold body somewhere in a ditch. His thumb paints Dean’s lips with more red before he leans down to taste them again. 

A sick thought that he fails to understand runs through his mind:

_Kill me first, Dean. Right now, and slowly._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ♡


End file.
